


in winter you froze, and i thawed you out

by prettyluke (buttonjimin)



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Depression, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Psychological Trauma, Songfic, Suicidal Thoughts, apart from luke and ashton everyone else is really only mentioned or referenced, dialogue freeform, this is not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 13:00:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4607700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttonjimin/pseuds/prettyluke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luke is crumbling like fresh snow, and Ashton is desperate to keep him together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in winter you froze, and i thawed you out

**Author's Note:**

> please look hard at the tags for triggers bc there are several in this fic. it's possibly one of the most beautiful things i've written and if you had to read one thing by me this is it.  
> based on OD by ed tullett (please listen to it while you read), title taken from thaw by ed tullett. most dialogue is in italics, all song lyrics are in bolded italics.

The sky is grey, and has been for a few days now.

Luke sits on the back porch of Michael’s house with a drink in his hand; he’s fuzzy like the clouds, hunched over his knees. Bodies tangle together behind him, behind the glass panel where the lights are dim and the air is thick. He digs the toes of his shoes into the soft dirt under the grass, swallowing down the bitter alcohol.

_Luke._

His name is bright and sharp on Ashton’s tongue. Luke can feel him standing behind, the backs of his knees hovering by his head. He curls tighter, his chest pushing inwards as if it might implode. He doesn’t want to be seen, not with his dull eyes and fading hair, or maybe that’s just his perception. He turns his head, looking up at Ashton; there is everything bright and beautiful standing above him.

_Ashton._

It sounds slurred, unclear, although it’s less alcohol and more the strain in his throat. Ashton kneels next to Luke. His breath is hot as it skates over Luke’s skin. He puts a hand around Luke’s free one and begins pulling him up. He is so much stronger than Luke, big enough to manhandle him the way Luke is at fault for liking. _Let’s get out of here,_ Ashton says, and pulls Luke through the house. Luke shuts his eyes when they enter the crowd, feeling hands all over his body. No one is touching him. When the air is clear, Luke opens his eyes, stumbling down the driveway. Ashton’s car is parked out front, close enough for Luke’s wobbly legs.

Luke doesn’t know how long they drive; he’s sat in front on the passenger side, hand planted on the glass as if he could touch the trees when they pass. They reach for him, but he remains.

Ashton stops the car down a gravel road. They could be halfway out in the forest; Luke doesn’t ask. There are trees, sparse around them, the moon tangling through the crooked branches. Luke tilts his head back to see up, where the trees taper off into the sky. Endless, unforgiving. The stars hide.

_**Kill surprise and be in the woods on your own.** _

Luke moves away from the window, leaning over the console to where Ashton waits, watching. _Kiss me,_ Luke says. He puts his hand on Ashton’s cheek, as gently as he can, and Ashton does; he tastes sweet, of what Luke isn’t sure. Innocence, perhaps, or something else Luke cannot grasp. He knows he wants this, from the burning air in his lungs that cools when it expels into the night. He knows he wants this, because he is supposed to.

 _I love you,_ Ashton tells him, breaking away for a moment. It’s not new for Luke’s ears, but he will always cling to it as if it were.

 _I love you too._ Luke slides Ashton’s hoodie off, a familiar motion. He is rigid and cold, perhaps a result of having thought about this moment for weeks. He knows what to do from his dreams, both waking and asleep. Ashton responds in kind, crawling into the backseat and pulling Luke with him. He gently presses Luke onto his back, shoulders flush with the leather seats. His arm drapes off the edge, fingers running along the rough carpeting.

The window is cracked open, a wheeze of wind trailing along the exposed flesh of Luke’s stomach; when did he get his shirt off? Every piece of himself laid out, and a white hot flash of a scene similar to this, a month ago, knifing through his stomach. Lips on his, and a pain that had settled across his hips and deep in his stomach. Leather under his back and his hand reaching for the door. The trees are quiet and keep his secret while they brush back the hair from his face and silence him.

 _You’re ready for this, right?_ Ashton whispers, fingers resting hesitantly along Luke’s collarbone as he kneels over. Luke smiles blankly and nods; perhaps the darkness masks the vacancy in his eyes. Ashton is two worthless years ahead, nothing that’ll help him see the fear through the darkness. Luke’s stomach twists up in a hard knot, threatening to ruin everything.

Ashton’s hands fumble over the waistband of Luke’s pants and then they’re gone, swift and easy as a kick in the stomach. His boxers are gone, added to the growing pile of clothes on the floor, and as Ashton’s hot fingers graze against his cock, he’s pushing him off and pulling open the door, stumbling to the side of the road and vomiting. His knees meet the dirt and the woods go black around him for a second.

 _Luke_ , Ashton says, this time less certain, this time concerned, this time afraid.

_It was the alcohol. I’m sorry._

His eyes burn like the acid in his throat, and Ashton is pulling a jumper over his head and his boxers back on. Ashton folds him up like a child in his arms, lifting him into the backseat. Luke lets out the tiniest of gasps, gripping at Ashton’s shirt. Begging him to stay. Before he starts to cry, before he says anything that would give it away.

It could be the sight of Luke curled on his side in agony, or the piteous way he pleads, but Ashton strokes his hair and kisses his clammy forehead until Luke calms down.

 

* * *

 

Luke is always cold inside, as if his heart and his organs and everything that makes him human has been replaced with machinery. He can believe he’s alive when he shakes at night, when he sees Ashton and feels that gut wrenching pain.

Luke is sure Ashton will want to break up after the night in the woods. He’s also sure Ashton is peripherally aware that Luke wasn’t even buzzed.

Ashton shows up at his house a week later; his eyes say _I’m sorry_ , his eyes say _I need you_ , his eyes say _I should have called_. Luke can smell lavender detergent, the hand lotion that Ashton used to keep his rough hands from cracking. He doesn’t want to hurt Luke, he had said; Luke deserved only the softest of touches, and he could not give that to him.

Luke deserves nothing at all.

 _I’m worried about you,_ Ashton says, touching Luke’s arm then. _You haven’t answered my texts._

Luke hasn’t looked at his phone at all, perhaps for fear it might make his headache worse, or for fear he will see something he doesn’t want to. His eyes trail down to where Ashton’s calloused fingers brush over his skin. He remembers the first time Ashton held his hand, the night they slept in Ashton’s bed and Luke said he was afraid of the dark.

_I’m sorry._

Ashton steps in, Luke trailing after. He pulls Luke into his arms, gentle as he kisses Luke’s forehead. The kiss is light, like a butterfly landing, and just as fleeting. Luke can feel himself straining to hold onto it, afraid he won’t have it again.

 _You’re so lovely,_ Ashton says with a brief smile. _Always so lovely._

_I am tired._

_You’re acting strange, Luke._ Ashton draws back, smile fading. Luke sucks in a breath; he wants to sink to his knees and cover his ears, pretend that he cannot hear his perfidious words. _You worry me._

Luke turns and walks to his bedroom, sitting on the fraying bedsheets. He puts his head in his hands and bites down hard on his lip. A weight settles beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

 _Do you want to break up?_ he asks, giving Ashton the easy way out. If he says yes, it’s over. If he says yes, Luke will never tell him. If he says yes, there is no reason for Luke to stay.

Luke doesn’t want him to pull his hands from his face and make him look at those beautiful coruscant hazel eyes, the ones Luke is so painfully in love with, because Luke will be choked again. He does anyway.

_Are you alright, Luke?_

Luke smiles vacantly and pulls at Ashton’s shirt, bringing him closer. Close enough to kiss, if he wanted. Ashton resists and leans back until he’s lying down, then pulls at Luke so he lies on top of Ashton, chest to chest. Luke rests his head on his shoulder. He holds Luke close; he knows Luke’s tricks, knows not to take the bait. Empty kisses and handjobs to pull Ashton’s attention—Luke will go to any length to push him away while keeping him close. Ashton has to merely hold him to get him trembling.

 _You can’t distract me,_ Ashton says with a smile. Luke exhales shakily as Ashton traces shapes onto his back. Luke remembers this, too, when he told Ashton he didn’t want to be alone.

 _I’m fine,_ Luke says, fingers curling around the sheets. Ashton strokes his hair. He knows, when Luke buries his face in his t-shirt.

_You’re not fine._

_I am._

Luke kisses him, slow and easy, and Ashton tangles a hand with Luke’s. Their foreheads bump, and Luke stares into Ashton’s eyes, knowing his pupils must be bleeding into his irises. That’s what happens when you are afraid; that’s what happens when you are in love. Luke no longer thinks it’s an accident.

_**From the size of your eyes I wouldn’t trust a tone.** _

 

* * *

 

_**Rumors of death and the strong hate of a mirror.** _

Luke is desperate to rip the boy in the mirror into shreds.

He is foreign and despicable, reaching for Luke. Those hands never fought back, those hips were bruised for a week, those eyes are used to drowning. Those thighs are torn up and ragged, and that mouth never said _no._

Luke would smash the mirror if he had the courage, just to see the boy split apart into pieces and slide from his glass frame. But he needs his courage for other things.

His eyes rake over his body, top to bottom. He should get dressed instead of thinking, instead of looking; he shouldn’t be allowed to see the way his chest barely moves, because that gets him wondering about why he hardly breathes anymore. He shouldn’t be allowed to look at his ribs and imagine Ashton running his thumb over them the day before and absently asking him to take care of himself, shouldn’t be allowed to see his chapped lips and think about how he hasn’t bothered to dig up chapstick and fix it before it inevitably splits open.

Mostly, he shouldn’t be allowed to fix his eyes on his thighs and pick at the scabs until they burst open again.

But he doesn’t stop looking at his thighs. This will protect him, will prevent anyone from wanting to get him naked again. Nobody will want to see the grotesque scars that will eventually form, hashed all over. It was to defy, to make sure that nobody else could hurt him worse than he himself had. It was to label him as a freak, so nobody would treat him the way he had been treated that night.

He regrets it when he thinks of Ashton, and how if he had relented to the pain at any point during the week he did it, he might have saved his body for him. But he’s glad somehow that he didn’t give in, because he’s so repulsed by his own damaged body that he knows nobody else will ever want it.

It hurts, less than he thought he would—the scars will be ugly, the result of gashes that left his skin desperate to knit back together but unable to—but it will heal. Not well, but in a few weeks the only reminder will be the sickly white lines.

He is nearly nauseated by the sight.

He thinks about it sometimes in the weeks that follow, and thinks about the idea that he could have gone farther. But Ashton is kind, Ashton is beautiful, and so for him, Luke uses his strength to stay.

 

* * *

 

They’re on Ashton’s bed and it’s raining outside, hard and loud, almost enough to drown out Luke’s thoughts. The rivers are overflowing their banks, and the reservoirs are spilling over the dams. The woods are a muddy mess, and he wonders if he might go back after it dries out, if all the filthy memories might be washed out with the rain.

Ashton is sitting up, typing up an essay for his college class. Luke lies next to him on his side. Luke wants badly to reach over and take the glasses from his face, to push the laptop away. He wants to grab Ashton’s collar and kiss him hard. He’s been wanting that a lot lately, because it’s easier than talking, and it gives him the feeling of proximity, however false and artificial it is; he knows on a deeper level that he is closest to Ashton when they are doing nothing at all, silent and tangled up together.

Thunder rattles the house, and Luke shivers, looking up towards the dark windows. Ashton tears his eyes away from his computer to glance at Luke, checking for fear. Luke does not meet his eyes, waiting for him to go back to work. He will not be a burden.

_You okay?_

_A little thunder never hurt anyone_ , Luke says, repeating his mother’s old cliche. Ashton smiles fleetingly and turns back to his work. Luke knows better than to fear ephemeral storms and the noises they bring, but his body reacts anyway, knotting his stomach and pulling the covers further up his shoulders.

Luke is happy to be next to Ashton, no matter how badly he wants to touch and to be touched. He likes the way Ashton chastely kisses his forehead and bumps his nose and squeezes his hand like he’ll never let go. It means safety and familiarity and love.

The thunder rolls again, and Luke jumps and scrunches his eyes shut. Ashton puts his laptop away and slides down under the covers, pulling Luke to his chest easily.

_It’s alright, love. Just thunder. We’re safe in here._

Luke breathes in deep, fingers bunching in Ashton’s soft t-shirt. He knows that Ashton would never let any harm come to him; he even knows the thunder won’t hurt him. But the noise bothers him, always has. His heart skips a beat and his body seizes up with every rumble. Ashton strokes his back soothingly and begins to sing softly. Luke relaxes. It’s easy at times like this to imagine a forever. Luke knows there won’t be.

_**Call for release and the taste of anyone near.** _

Lightning knifes through the sky, and Luke tightens his grip and pulls even closer. He doesn’t expect to tremble as violently as he does, but he’s always hated storms; he used to hate them enough that they could drive him out of his own bed and across the hall to Jack’s.

 _Hey, shh, I’ve got you,_ Ashton soothes. _Nothing to worry about, I promise._

_I’m sorry._

_For what?_

_It’s stupid. To still be afraid of storms._ Luke thinks that, if anything, it’s only gotten worse lately. _You must think I’m a stupid little kid._ They haven’t even had sex yet, which is Luke’s fault. After the woods, they haven’t tried anything again. Haven’t even talked about it. Ashton is older, and surely can find easier boys to date.

 _Everyone’s afraid of something,_ Ashton says, kissing his hair. _It’s what makes us who we are._

Trust Ashton to come up with stupid platitudes to make him feel better, but trust Luke to fall in love with him just a little bit harder for it.

 

* * *

 

Luke always hates leaving Ashton’s house.

Especially now, in light rain, he watches over his shoulders fearfully, as if someone might materialize to attack him. He thinks of the old stranger danger talks Zoe will grow up with. She’s small enough to fit on his lap still, and hasn’t found her walking legs yet, so she isn’t quite old enough to leave her parents’ sight, but someday, she will walk these streets and watch over her shoulders too.

Luke’s mum had sat all three of her boys down in her bedroom and talked to them about always being sure that the girls they fucked gave their full and absolute consent. About how it was fine to ask multiple times, or stop if they felt she wasn’t enjoying it. But it was before they had walked in on Luke kissing a boy in his bedroom when he was 15. She had fallen prey to the same inadequacy that mothers with sons often possess, through no fault of her own; nobody ever told Luke that if someone was too rough with _him_ , that if _he_ wanted to stop, that he could. That he was allowed to.

Luke hadn’t fought at all, although it had hurt, a dull ache that left him limping for days. He had lain there and taken it like a _good boy_ , but his eyes couldn’t stand to look at a face and associate the pain with something human. He had looked out the window at the trees. The woods.

Maybe if he and Ashton tried again, out of the woods, he wouldn’t chicken out; if he didn’t have to look at the same trees that had betrayed him once before, he wouldn’t panic.

Luke steps in a deceptively deep puddle while he’s thinking and drenches the bottom half of his Vans, enough for his left sock to soak right through. He stops walking completely and fights the urge to cry at the nasty feeling of a wet sock clinging to his foot. He steps out of the puddle and lifts his knee to his chest, hastily undoing his laces and peeling off his sock. He steps back down barefoot on the damp concrete and swallows past the lump in his throat before hobbling on, now lopsided.

He should have brought an umbrella. The rain is so cold it stings, _burns_. He pulls his jacket tighter around himself, trying to shield his skin.

When Zoe grows up, Luke will tell her that even if you don’t say no, it doesn’t mean you said yes.

He is glad to reach home, and brushes off his mother’s questions about his one bare foot. He heads straight for the bathroom, where he strips off his damp clothes and starts to fill a bath. He’s too old for one, but there’s something comforting about it, and at any rate, he’s too weak to stand. He showered this morning as he usually does, and now he needs to warm up.

He sinks into the tub, leaning back against the cold tile wall and stretching his legs as far as they’ll go in front of him. The water is deep, up to his chest at the angle he’s sitting. The pressure of being underwater weighs on his sternum, his lungs. And there’s something comforting about that, too.

In a few minutes, he can feel the stiff, numb sensation in his extremities fade. His face flushes with the heat of the water. He slides down further and stares at the tiled wall across from him, a small crack running past the faucets; the grout is dirty and sullies the baby pink color. Luke wonders if it was clean when he was younger, or has always been this way.

He loves taking baths most of all because the pounding noise of water clattering against enamel flooring tends to drown out his thoughts in a way that baths don’t. It’s that blessed silence that leads to him glancing at the wall on the side, where the little receptacle holds two bars of soap, one practically melted over the metal floor it sits on (probably, Luke expects, thanks to the shower spraying it), and the other full and intact—probably new. And in the same receptacle, is his mother’s shaving razor.

Luke stares at it for a good minute, the way the light glints off the blades, and remembers the razorblade he took from his father’s toolkit. Just for that one time, to mar his smooth, touchable skin for anyone in his future who might dare to come so close. He remembers it well.

_**Left alone you will perish to be up to no good.** _

He looks down at his thighs, the sight as fresh as if he doesn’t look at it every night when he strips out of his jeans for bed. It hasn’t healed yet. It was too deep to simply go away in a few days or so; he knows it’ll take longer.

Luke sighs.

He presses the pads of his feet against the enamel bath floor and pulls his body forward until his knees are above water and the water has come to under his chin and just below his face. The motion has the water ebbing, threatening to cover his mouth with the high tide.

The pressure increases, and now he really can’t breathe very well. It’s like having someone sit on his chest, the way Jack and Ben always did growing up, when they wanted to lord their size over him. It feels like the way he felt that night in the car with the words _no_ and _please_ on his lips, and lacking the breath to say them.

He submerges entirely, allowing the depth to cover his face. In the pure silence of the water, he thinks for a while.

He thinks of what it would be like if nothing had ever happened; if he was a virgin still, like Ashton thinks he is. If he had been able to find the strength to use his hands, to push. If he could stop thinking.

It’s not like one of those dreams where he can still take tiny breaths in the water, like a fish. It’s not like one of those dreams where he can’t fight to the surface of the water and awakes in a fearful sweat. It’s his choice, pretending like he’s drowning when he could simply sit up, and that’s the heaviest part.

_**Your own fault is what you will use as an excuse.** _

He rises from the water gasping when his lungs give out and his panic response kicks in.

 

* * *

 

_**Still, I was in panic for hours.** _

Luke shouldn’t think about it. He doesn’t want to, and he sits in the bathroom for ages, willing the thought to leave his head, which only hammers it in harder.

He can hear Ben’s music from down the hall; obnoxious, retro, ’80s music that reminds Luke of the old cassettes his father used to play when their car still had a tape player. He remembers sitting in the middle seat with his brothers on either side, all singing obstreperously because they had it memorized. The same tapes, over and over again. Ben was the only one who kept listening after the age of ten.

Luke is reminded unpleasantly of his childhood, and how simple everything was and how complicated it is now. His stomach is clenched in a nervous knot, intense enough to make him nearly nauseous. He exhales heavily and brings his knees up to his chest, his bare toes cold as they curl.

Everything hurts, and he doesn’t know how to stop it.

His head hurts from thinking, and his entire body aches. His muggy thoughts are quickly morphing, changing from harmless to dangerous. His hand tightens on the lid of the bottle, his eyes stinging, and he shakes it over his palm. They seem to clog at the lip where the foil hasn’t been completely ripped off, and he turns the bottle upside down and shakes harder. The pills scatter too fast over his waiting hand and clatter to the floor, scattering before he can stop it. Frustrated by his mistake, he lets out a sob and drops to his knees in the mess.

He pulls out his phone and texts Ashton, because Ashton will know what to do.

Luke: _are you there?_

Ashton: _hey babe :)_

Luke takes a deep breath and wipes his eyes, shivering in the cold room.

Luke: _can I call you?_

Ashton: _sure, everything alright?_

Luke works up the courage to just press the call button. Ashton will know what to do. Ashton always does. He’s so used to taking care of Luke, of everyone around him. Ashton is full of sunshine and never runs out, and Luke needs a lot of sunshine.

_Luke?_

_Ashton._

_What’s going on? Are you crying?_

Luke huffs in frustration. Yes, he’s crying. _Do you love me?_

The question is loaded, unfair. Luke has always hated that there’s a taboo on the words _I love you_ , that it has to mean something serious. Luke has loved a lot of people in his life, and probably will love more. And Ashton, he loves most of all.

He doesn’t need to hear it back, but he wants to.

 _Yeah, babe, I do. What’s wrong?_ There’s some shuffling on the other end. _Do you want to come over?_

_Please. I’m freaking out._

_What’s going on, Luke?_

_I’ll be in the upstairs bathroom. Just please come. As soon as you can, please._

Ashton rushes over to find Luke crying, breathing too fast and too heavily, amongst a floor full of little white tablets.

_**So many pills, they were all scattered around.** _

Ashton has known people who were like this, and Luke knows he was like this before, and he doesn’t ask questions as he drops to the floor to cradle Luke.

_Hey, what’s all this? What happened, love?_

Luke tries to scoop some pills off the floor, a pathetic and desperate gesture. Ashton grabs his hands and holds them tightly, stopping him.

 _I’m sorry,_ Luke sobs. _I’m so tired of everything. Wanna—wanna—_

 _Hush._ Ashton rocks him slightly, trying to calm him. Maybe he didn’t want to hear Luke finish—maybe he didn’t want Luke to have to. _It’s alright. You don’t want to do that, baby. You’re worth so much._

_Not. Not anymore._

Ashton feels like a blanket, immersing Luke in his warmth and comfort. Luke clings to him until his body stops convulsing and he can breathe again.

_You are worth the world, Luke. Please stay._

Luke is worth the dirt under the house. Useless, and taken.

 _You look exhausted, Luke,_ he says, stroking his arm. _You don’t look well at all._

 _I’m okay,_ Luke says, shuddering.

 _I’m going to carry you to bed, okay?_ Ashton lifts Luke up in his arms and opens the bathroom door. _I’ll clean all this up. I want you to go get some rest. You can’t keep this up._

It hasn’t escaped Ashton that Luke hasn’t been sleeping at night, as made obvious by some of Luke’s late night texts and the heavy circles under his eyes. Luke has become so small and faded, even he’s aware of that. It feels like his whole body is trying to turn in on itself. And yet, when Ashton lays him in bed and pulls the cold duvet over him, he feels the turmoil stop.

 _Don’t go, Ash,_ Luke says, wishing he could hold onto him for a little longer. He’s never close enough. Even now, when Luke hasn’t the energy to drag himself from this bed or reach for him, he’s desperate for intimacy.

Ashton kisses his forehead and Luke knows he won’t stay. _Get some sleep,_ he says. _You’ll only keep yourself awake if I stay._

And he doesn’t stay.

 

* * *

 

_**It made me ill, I couldn’t stand to drown.** _

Luke’s body is trying to tear itself apart.

It keeps him in bed for three days straight, and when he does manage to get up it’s to cross the hall and vomit into the toilet. The thought of leaving his room, leaving the _house_ , drives fear so deep into his stomach that it makes him sick.

His mother has the sense to test him for a fever; on the fourth day, his life becomes a conflating illusion of hot hands over his skin and low voices humming in the background. The doctor declares it a virus, probably from being out in the rain too much; Luke knows better.

When he’s no longer delirious, Ashton visits him, in his bedroom; he settles in Luke’s desk chair, a safe distance away. _Heard you’ve been pretty ill,_ he says. _I would have visited earlier, but your mum said you’d come down with a pretty nasty fever._

_Yeah._

_What did the doctor say?_

_Said it was a virus._ Luke wishes Ashton would come closer, gather him up in his arms and hold him. But he knows he looks wrecked, pale and colorless and thin. His skin has taken on a sickly yellow undertone that may wash away in a few days, and his hands twitch nervously now.

_Are you okay, Luke?_

Luke is not okay.

_My fever is gone._

_I mean emotionally._ Ashton’s eyes seem to drill into him, hoping, probably, to hit the right spot, and leave the truth flowing out of him. Luke cannot tell him. _I’m really worried about you._

Luke turns onto his back so he can stare at his cracked ceiling, the marks that used to scare him at night, the imperfections that looked like spiders to his struggling eyes. _I’m going to fall asleep. You should go home._

The blunt rejection must hurt, because although Ashton isn’t usually easily deterred, he rises from his chair to leave.

 _Get better soon, love._ Ashton pauses by the door. _I’m always here for you._

_**In your will, you promised you’d settle me down.** _

Luke waits for him to leave before he turns onto his stomach, buries his head in his pillow, and screams.

 

* * *

 

Luke walks to Ashton’s apartment when he’s finally able to get on his feet. He’s possibly more troubled than before; the sickness didn’t purge out the poison. Inside, it still feels like a war.

He nearly turns back when he’s there, waiting apprehensively on the doorstep. His mind is completely fucked, and he shouldn’t have come, but he’s here; he would never have the courage to say all these things otherwise.

Ashton opens the door and tells him to come in, and Luke stiffly steps only just inside. His hands and feet are tingling and his body is screaming at him to go home, to stop before he does something he can’t change.

_Hey, Luke._

_We need to break up_.

It slips out of Luke’s mouth before he can stop it. He loves Ashton, so hard it hurts. Right now, he can’t deal with any extra pain.

Ashton looks like he’s been hit with a sandbag straight to the stomach, and gasps.

_Fuck, Luke._

_**You’ll be shorter of breath now.** _

Luke is dimly aware when he wraps his arms around himself that he is violently shaking. If he gets rid of Ashton, then he doesn’t have to stay. He’ll be free, like the kind of sickening freedom that comes with plummeting towards the bottom of a dry pool.

 _I’m not a virgin._ The admission is so weighted for Luke that it feels like something is wrenched from him. _Someone fucked me. I didn’t say no. And now I’m filthy. I’m filthy filthy filthy dirty and I want to die._

Luke doesn’t want to tell Ashton that he had wanted it to stop, and his breath had gotten lost and his words were all tangled up like yarn, and that it had hurt so badly he had wanted to be sick. He wants Ashton to hate him, to give up on him, to abandon him.

Luke wants Ashton to throw him away.

 _Oh my god,_ Ashton’s saying. _Oh my god. Did you want it?_

Luke wants to say that yes, he did; that he knew what he was doing and Ashton should hate him for it, should leave him on the roadside like yesterday’s trash.

_No._

Ashton moves to hold Luke and Luke shoves him so hard he stumbles back, knocking against the coffee table. Luke cannot stop fucking _trembling,_ like his body threatens to break apart. His mouth tastes bitter and ascorbic, like fear, like anger.

_Luke, you’re not filthy. It’s not your fault._

_I’m no good for you._ Luke repeats it a few times. _I can't be with you._

_Luke. Please. I don’t care if you’re not a virgin. You’re still beautiful. You’re still mine._

_I’m nothing!_ Luke screams, fumbling at the button of his pants. He yanks them down around his knees, drinking in the heavy inhalation from Ashton at the sight of destroyed flesh, and rakes his nails down his bare arms. _I’m not yours. Nobody can have me ever again. I am ruined. I am worth nothing._

Ashton is moving fast now, pinning Luke’s arms to his sides and pulling him in, preventing him from doing any further damage. He moves Luke to the couch quickly, laying him down. _You’re not ruined. You’re gonna be okay. We need to get you help. You’re not thinking straight._

 _Nobody can ever have me again,_ Luke repeats, teeth clattering in his mouth as he tries to form the words. _Not even you._ He bites his tongue as he curls his numb hands on top of his chest and lets the tears spill out over the sides of his face. He’s deteriorating so fast that Ashton looks frightened, convulsing and hyperventilating while spitting out the same tired phrases. Every now and then, his hands twitch, cold and oxygen deprived. His whole body is on the verge of freezing.

Ashton grabs a blanket and settles it over Luke, kneeling beside him and taking hold of his hand. He squeezes it gently, rubbing it between both of his hands. _Nobody will have you,_ he reassures Luke. _Not like that. Not ever like that. Breathe for me, Luke. You’re always safe with me, remember? I’ve got you. Shh, now._

Luke hiccups and sobs out loud, exhausted and seized by the paroxysm. He was wrong. Breaking up with Ashton didn’t work, and god, he’s too scared to die, and he’ll be stuck in this endless hell forever.

 _Ash. Ash, God, I’m so c-cold_. His teeth are chattering and he can hardly speak through it.

 _You have to breathe slowly,_ Ashton says, stroking his cheek lovingly. _I’ll keep holding your hand._

_I am afraid._

Ashton holds his hand until he stops crying, and calls Ben to come pick him up.

 _He needs to see someone,_ Luke hears Ashton say when Ben comes. _Get him help. Please get him help._

Luke pretends to be asleep.

_**And I can feel the blood draining out.** _

 

* * *

 

Ashton can sense he’s losing Luke.

It’s not like Luke has been entirely responsive these past weeks—for reasons Ashton is starting to understand, he’s been cut off and distant. Ashton hasn’t seen him genuinely smile in a long time. But Luke is completely ignoring his phone, and it makes him worry.

It’s almost a relief when his phone buzzes beside him on the bed, and lights up with Luke’s name and the picture Ashton took of him at the beach.

It seems years away, that day.

“Hello?” he says, leaning back against his pillows. “Luke?”

“It’s Calum,” the voice on the other end says. Ashton racks his brain for a minute, pulling up Calum’s face in his head. He was on the footy team, back when Ashton was still in high school; he’s Luke’s friend more than Ashton’s. “This _is_ Ashton, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ashton says. “Uh, why are you calling from Luke’s phone?”

“Listen, mate, I’ve got Luke here. He’s smashed, like, really—I don’t know what he’s taken.” There’s a pause, and Ashton can hear the background noise of a party now that he focuses. “I think he said ecstasy.”

Ashton is sliding off his bed in an instant. “Where are you?”

“Matty’s house. You know where it is?”

“Yeah, I think. Fuck, can you keep him with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks, Calum.” Ashton shoves his phone into his back pocket and rushes through his apartment, grabbing a jacket and shoes before taking the stairs down to the parking lot and sliding into his car.

He probably breaks the speed limit at least a few times trying to get across town, but it doesn’t matter; it’s more important that he gets Luke out of that shithole and somewhere safe for him to sober up. Everyone _knows_ that Matty’s dealing everything under the sun, and if Luke still listened to Ashton, if he wasn’t out of his mind, he would never have ended up there.

He can tell it’s a party when he pulls up; the music is audible from the curb, and there are a few kids spilling out the door, too drunk to walk straight. Ashton wastes no time, marching up the driveway and opening the front door. It’s like a blast of music and weed, and he grits his teeth and moves towards the back of the house, checking in every bedroom and bathroom. He finds Luke curled in the corner of an exceptionally large closet, Calum sitting across from him and rubbing his knee. He seems so rigid and tense, and his eyes are shut.

“Luke, baby, I’m gonna take you home,” he says, kneeling and pulling at Luke’s hands. Luke looks at him in dazed surprise.

“Ash?” he says, soft and startled.

“Let’s get you out of here.” Ashton pulls him to his feet and notices he’s curling in on himself.

Luke smiles at Ashton, gluing himself to his side. “Love you lots,” he says. “Feel like I could fly.”

“You’re so cold,” Ashton says, touching his hand.

“But I feel so good,” Luke says, although he shivers.

“Thanks for everything,” Ashton says again to Calum, who rises to join the rest of the party. He gives Ashton a quick salute. “Okay, Luke, let’s get you home.”

Luke is a plastered mess; he wants to touch Ashton, hold onto him. It’s all he can do to get Luke into the car. It’s cooler outside, and Luke makes a whimpery noise and clings closer.

Ashton turns the heat on in the car to try and ease Luke’s chills. By the time they get home and Ashton is dragging Luke inside, he’s shaking.

“Do you want to get in bed?” Ashton asks, prying his hands off his shirt. “Lukey, stay with me now.”

“Yeah, okay,” Luke says, letting Ashton lay him on the bed and cover him with the blankets. “It’s so cold.”

“It’s 80°,” Ashton says quietly.

“Cold,” Luke whispers, shutting his eyes. He smiles, like he just can’t stop himself. “I feel alright.”

Ashton grabs another blanket and lays it on top of him. Luke grips the edge of it and makes grabby hands at Ashton. “You should try it,” Luke says with a giggle. “They just give you this pill, you just have to swallow it—”

“You’re going to destroy yourself,” Ashton says point-blank. He wants to cry. This is not Luke. This is some messed up version of him.

“It was so much fun,” Luke says, and this time when he smiles Ashton catches the desperation in his eyes, the wrenching need to feel whole and happy. “I was so happy.”

The trip is fading off. And Ashton feels sorry that the only thing that can make Luke happy is a fucking pill. Ashton has heard about the comedown, and Luke is going to be worse soon.

“It’s alright,” he says softly, pulling Luke to his body.

“Everything is so cold,” Luke whispers, sinking into Ashton’s hold.

“Do you want another blanket?” Ashton will burst into flames, but he cannot stand Luke trembling from the cold. Luke presses himself harder against Ashton.

_**Your body got closer to the point where we were one.** _

“It’s cold inside me,” he says. “Everything is always cold. Been waiting for the sun again.” He breathes deeply into Ashton’s chest, Ashton absentmindedly tangling a hand in the back of his hair. It’s getting long, unkempt, and Luke hasn’t shaven in a while, he can see. “I don’t think it’s coming.”

Ashton thinks his heart is going to break. “You’re doing so well,” he murmurs. “You’re going to be okay.” He traces shapes on Luke’s back; it used to calm him down through anything.

But Luke is so small and distant, so far removed from who he was that Ashton doesn’t know how to get through to him. What if Luke is too far gone? Is it Ashton’s fault for not helping him better—sooner?

_**The thought struck me softly that I wanted to go where you’d gone.** _

Luke was his responsibility. Still is. Ashton wishes he had known Luke had been through, and maybe then he wouldn’t have felt so blindsided by every new development. He understands the mess Luke made of his skin, and although they hadn’t been his own reasons at 17, he understands how Luke might have thought, in his addled head, that it would protect him.

He is afraid for Luke.

He is so small; he cannot take on the world, and he has always tried to. Ashton would hold him forever if it would fix whatever snapped inside him.

Luke rolls onto his back beside him and stares up at the ceiling, his jaw slack in contrast to the way he had been grinding his teeth all night. Ashton knows that hours earlier, there must have been a colorful pill placed on that tongue.

_**Your mouth was open, I was scared to know what was inside.** _

Luke looks blankly at Ashton, and says nothing, vacant and gone.

_**I wouldn’t admit it, but the dead eyes made me cry.** _

 

* * *

 

Luke spends two months in an inpatient center all the way across Sydney.

Ashton isn’t sure why his parents chose to send him so far away, but he expects it must help to be removed from his normal life entirely and focus on himself. And he knows it’ll be difficult, because Luke has never liked being alone and thinking about himself.

Every time Ashton or one of his family members drive down to see him, he asks the staff to send them back home again.

Luke comes home in the spring. He doesn’t visit Ashton for a few days, and Ashton declines to text or call, figuring he’s getting used to being home again and spending some sorely needed downtime with his family. It doesn’t stop him from wondering if Luke is better, if Luke will be lively and happy and the scars, emotional and physical, will have faded.

As Ashton expects, Luke shows up at his doorstep in the morning, and god, Ashton has never seen anything better.

He’s put back on the weight he lost, and the color has returned to his cheeks. And holy shit, he’s smiling at Ashton. Nervously, of course, but it’s there. And it’s something he hasn’t seen in fuck-all forever.

“Luke,” Ashton breathes. “My god.”

“Can I come in?” Luke asks timidly, and Ashton steps back to allow him the space. “Um, you can, like, hug me.”

Ashton is so eager to have his arms around Luke again. He feels solid, real—Ashton could hold him forever. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

“Yeah.” Luke scuffs his toes shyly. “I’m glad to be back, too.”

“You look so good,” Ashton says. “I’m so proud of you. How’s your family?”

“Well, um, Jack proposed to Celeste yesterday,” Luke tells him. “He was waiting for me to come home, because he knew I would want to see. It was really nice.”

“That’s awesome,” Ashton says. After a moment’s pause, he wraps his arms back around Luke and squeezes. “God, I’m glad to have you.”

“Thanks for waiting for me,” Luke whispers.

Ashton can’t help but grin.

They lie in Ashton’s bed for most of the day, catching up on the two months they missed. It’s good to hold hands again, good to hear Luke talk almost as much as he used to. He tends to talk slowly now, measuring each of his words, and touches gently. Ashton thinks he’s a new Luke; maybe he won’t ever get the old one back, and maybe that’s for the best. He gets the overwhelming sense that things will be okay.

_**Realigned, you were beauty without a home.** _

And finally, when the sun has set and the room is just dark, occasionally and briefly temporarily in light from a passing car’s headlights, Luke asks to talk about something important.

Ashton tells him he doesn’t have to, and that it makes no difference to him.

Luke tells him anyway.

He tells him that the boy was so sweet that he buckled at the knees, and if he hadn’t been so in love with Ashton, when the boy tried to kiss him, he would have let him. He tells him that the boy offered him a ride home, and he was stupid enough to say yes, and that’s how he ended up in the backseat of a Lincoln with his clothes in the brambles and his hand reaching for the moon. The windows had been shut, and he had struggled to breathe, and when the boy had transmogrified and become someone to fear, Luke hadn’t said a single word, out of his mind and out of his depth.

He hadn’t said _no._

He hadn’t said _please, I’ll do anything._

He hadn’t moved at all. And he had paid the price in bruises and a fear that had chased him all this time.

But it’s okay, Luke says, lying on top of Ashton and resting his head on his chest. So he can hear his heartbeat. It hurts a fraction less, because they made him say it every day in the mirror— _it’s not my fault._

And although they don’t say it, they know that Luke is brave to finally say the word _rape_ out loud, and braver still to face that ugly thing inside him that screams every now and then.

Ashton kisses him slow and deep, sloppy in the dark, and although there’s no light and their eyes are shut, he finds Luke’s hand just fine.

_**You’re alight, and with that you won’t be alone.** _

**Author's Note:**

> i'm super proud of myself for writing this fic and i'm very interested in hearing your thoughts about the structure and formatting as well as the style. i'm also working on flowers in your hair so stay tuned for that update and i love all of you <3  
> with love xx


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